


Particles and Possessives

by 61Below



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bad First Impressions, F/M, Feminism, Lost in Translation, Male tears, Misunderstandings, Paparazzi, Pepper Potts runs the world, Pining, Press and Tabloids, Pride and Prejudice crossover, Sass, Slow Build, Who runs the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/61Below/pseuds/61Below
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers meets Darcy Lewis under less than ideal circumstances. Darcy Lewis does not take any of Steve Rogers' shit. </p>
<p>Or, how someone thought it'd be a good idea to throw Darcy to the wolves and expect her to behave like a responsible, respectable adult. She hasn't quite figured that part out yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of posting my old tumblr fic onto where I can _actually find them_. Geez this is actually so old it's not even IM3 compliant. Fair warning: this is still a WIP. Maybe (hopefully?) this will kickstart my muse.

The best part about his commute was when he climbed out of the subway station, back out under the sky. The sidewalk was as packed as usual with suits and tourists, but it was less stifling out in the early summer air. It’d get hot later, but at that moment? _Mmph!_ That breeze felt good.

So of course, about a half block from SHEILD’s entrance, he heard shouting over the blaring traffic. “Do I look like I know you?” The commuters took no more notice than to bend a little out of the way. When he got close, he saw that a short gal, brown curls quivering, had a young man backed up against the brick wall, her finger pointing up into his terrified face. He had his hands raised up on either side of his head, empty.

"Hey now, what’s going on here?" Steve waded out of crowd, Captaining out a little.

The guy pinned to the wall gave Steve one scared glance before hustling away, low-slung jeans nearly falling off his hips.

"That’s right, buddy." The brunette called after him, pointing two fingers at her glasses before pointing one, forcefully, back. He didn’t look over his shoulder again.

"What was that all about?" Steve ground out, glaring.

The gal gave him a once-over and rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t mind me, just getting my morning cardio out of the way.” She tossed her dark curls over her shoulder and sauntered away, black pumps clacking on the concrete, hips swaying in a black pencil skirt. Steve blinked, hard, and almost lost her in the crowd.

"Hey!" he called. She only waved one hand—didn’t even look back.

===

He hated to admit it, even to himself, but his daily work was boring. The last thing he wanted was to sound ungrateful, though…but he was a soldier, not a secretary. SHIELD didn’t seem to know what to do with him in between missions, either, but he couldn’t justifiably spend the weeks of downtime just…drawing in his apartment. So he spent his days in the office sketching. He did help with the trainees sometimes, and he did meet with the analysts and strategists, but…it was 10:45 on a beautiful summer morning. He had no files in his inbox, no voice messages to respond to, and an already well-developed pirate ship roughed out on the yellow sticky-pad next to his telephone. So when the phone rang, he jumped to answer it.

"Are you being unavoidably detained?" Director Fury clipped out.

"Uh, no sir?"

"Cap, can you see a clock?"

"Ah, yes sir?"

The sigh was audible over the phone. “Did you, or did you not, see your calendar today?”

Steve hitched his telephone up with his shoulder and awkwardly jiggled his mouse, only to find that his computer had timed off and logged out. He stammered, “Ah, l-let me check quick, one moment.” He pecked his ID and pass code in, and there, flashing in the upper right of his screen, was an unacknowledged meeting notification, scheduled for fifteen minutes ago. Steve swore internally and garbled, “I’ll be right there, sir.” He threw his phone back into its cradle, spun away from his desk, and took off down the hall. If he forgot to log out of his workstation, well, obviously it’d do that on its own now.

Fury’s personal staff barely looked up when he rushed by. Once through the retina scan-and-key-code secured door and partway down the hallway to Fury’s office, Steve heard, “—mean, I knew there’d be strings attached when I got my iPod back, but I never expected a leash!” That…voice. The same girl from the sidewalk sat in one of the two visitors’ chairs across from Fury’s desk, slumped a little, utterly at ease. She looked up at him, smirking, as Steve walked in, and gave him a little nod. He opened his mouth, shut it, and looked to Fury for an explanation.

"Take a seat, Cap." Fury waved a magnanimous hand at the other chair. Steve sat slowly. "This is Darcy Lewis. Ms. Lewis, Captain Rogers."

Her red lips twisted into a mocking smile when he turned to her. “Pleased to meetcha, Cap,” she drawled laconically, recrossing her long…bare legs. Steve immediately snapped his gaze back to Director Fury. One dark eye bore into his.

"Ms. Lewis here recently graduated cum laude from Culver with a degree in Politcal Science and a minor in modern American history. We felt that she’s…uniquely qualified to both help bring you up to speed with the world and act as your Personal Assistant." Fury pushed a folder across his desk.

Steve picked it up, asking, “Uniquely qualified?”

"I tazed Thor." Steve snapped his head back to the girl, who positively preened in her chair. He turned back to Fury in time to catch the tail end of an eye-roll, but he couldn’t mistake the …fond expression that was left in its wake.

"She already has the clearance to know about the Avengers Initiative, and while she is capable of handling herself—"

"What bossman here’s trying to say is I’m neither soldier, spy, or desk jockey." Ms. Lewis tossed at Steve, who buried his head in her folder. "I do have a track record of keeping you crazy-intense types well fed and organized, though."

Steve flicked through the documents, stopping to stare at a picture of the girl, soot-streaked and tousled, helping pull a kid out of a broken plate window. “How did a political science-slash-history major end up interning for an astrophysicist?”

"Play nice and maybe you’ll hear that story some day, Cap." Steve looked hard at her, but she was busy buffing her nails on her blouse. He flipped the photo a little forcefully and turned back to her dossier. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lean forward and address Fury. “Look, I can see why you’d pick me to teach him,” she tossed her head in his direction, curls bouncing on her— _eyes forward, Rogers_ , “pop culture and how to safely Google, but are you sure you want me teaching him history? Aren’t there, like, experts for that? Who, you know, know the stuff that you keep out of the normal civilian curriculum? Do you really want me to teach him American History X?”

Fury laced his fingers together. “Just use. your. discretion. At this point, I trust your judgement. Do not make me reconsider that.” She sat back and mock-saluted him. Steve’s fingers tightened on her folder.

He skimmed over her character assessment (which was heavy on her almost single-minded determination) until he saw the reporter’s signature.

_P. Coulson._

He closed the folder.

"Any questions or concerns?" Fury asked after a moment.

"These are my orders?" Steve lifted the folder to make his point.

(Darcy’s eyebrows shot up, but Fury quelled her with a look before turning back to Steve.)

"Yes." The finality there was also a subtle warning.

He nodded, and Fury turned back to Ms. Lewis. “Go see Marge in clerical. She’ll be able to help you start setting up while you wait for IT to show up. You can work out your schedule with Captain Rogers later."

Hearing her dismissal, Darcy stood, thanked him, and walked out.

After a long pause, Steve looked back over his shoulder, turned back, opened his mouth, and closed it.

Fury sighed, “Out with it, Rogers.”

"It’s…nothing concrete, sir. But, are you sure about her, her character?"

Fury’s eye dropped to his clasped hands. “She’s about as irreverent as a Dr. Suess book, and she will poke and prod and make light of everything, but…she made a very big impression on Agent Coulson. She was his last recommendation. That’s enough for me.”

===

"You know, the best way to learn how to type is instant messenger?" Steve jumped. Darcy leant casually in his door frame, holding two cups of coffee. Once she had his attention, she walked in and placed a mug on his desk where a stray elbow wouldn’t catch it. "Trying to keep up with fifteen IM conversations at once is a surefire way to create QWERTY muscle-memory. Screw those ‘keep your left and right middle fingers on the home keys’ crap tutorials. Here’s a pair of middle fingers for that. What a waste of a quarter. The best way to learn anything is to just do it, you know?"

Steve blinked at her. “Is instant messenger the same thing as texting?”

Darcy blinked back at him. “You know, I suppose they are almost the same now. But just for linguistics’ sake, instant messenger is when it’s on the computer. Are you on Facebook at all?”

Wide-eyed, he shook his head at her.

She put down her coffee mug and dragged one of his visitors’ chairs around the back of his desk. “Never mind Facebook for now. We’ll just set up your messenger so you can talk to the people you need to talk to."

The next few minutes were spent in a litany of ever more frustrated/incomprehensible instructions before Darcy gave up and reached across his chest for the mouse herself. Steve caught a whiff of her flowery shampoo and quickly sat back. She started whipping through screens and menu bars and babbling all the while. “You’ll have the option to ‘hide’ your status, but when you’re active on your computer, you’ll show up here.” She showed him the list of other ‘online’ people. “Oh hey, it already imported your contacts!” she chirped. “If you want to change that so other people can’t see when you’re logged on, go here.” She clicked through a number of menu options, and Steve gave up trying to follow. Then she changed his settings back, saying, “Just remember, this does count as ‘written information’ and, as such, it’s accessible via archive. So here’s your very official legalese warning: don’t write anything you wouldn’t want published on the front page of the New York Times, under your real name. Thank you, that’ll be two grand.”

Suddenly, a little window popped up with an accompanying little jingle. THE!r0nman says: :::CAPSICLE?!:::

Darcy bit the corner of her very red lip. “Uh, well, you type what you want to say here, and either hit ‘enter’ or click ‘send’. Ah, have fun!”


	2. It Burns Us

When Steve stomped out of his office, his new assistant was on her hands and knees beneath her desk, rear end wriggling up at him. He stalked off without a word.

Darcy triumphantly connected her T3 cable to the jack and crawled back out. She stood up and dusted off her knees just in time to see Steve’s retreating back. She glanced at the clock and decided to take lunch early, too. Or, at least, run down to the lab before she officially took lunch. After all, she needed to get her lucky bamboo plant and the demotivational poster she’d tacked on the wall behind Jane’s coffeemaker. Darcy could never really tell if Jane ever noticed that the caption read, “If a pretty poster and a cute saying are all it takes to motivate you, you probably have a very easy job… the kind robots will be doing soon.” It was a tossup really. One of these days she was going to get Stark to sign it. Either way, she knew she needed to hang it up in her cubicle now. Maybe look into getting it framed. Then she’d wait to see how long it took for Captain America to notice.

===

Darcy managed to unclench her fists before she keyed into Jane’s lab, only to run face first into the glowing chest of Tony Stark.

"Don’t taze me, bro!" Tony shouted over the melee of their flailing limbs. Darcy took that moment to shove him (not that hard) in the chest.

"You! How badly have you traumatized our great and glorious leader?" She loomed in the doorway when he tried to worm past.

"Me? I’m hurt that you immediately think I’d pass up the opportunity to show poor old Cap just what he’s missed out on in the last eleventy-seven decades."

"Oh dear God, you sent him links to porn, didn’t you."

"Well, that and 4chan’s /b/ board. Guy needs to observe the modern male in its native environment!"

Darcy buried her face in her hands, and Tony made his great escape.

"Oh my God, Jane I can’t go back now. No wonder he raced out of his office like a bat out of hell. I’ll just call Fury and go back to force-feeding you granola bars after every third pop-tart. I’ll even stop switching you to decaf after 3 o’clock!"

"Darce, as much as I love you, Dr. Banner would not be able to handle both you and Tony Stark, together, in the lab at the same time." Jane didn’t even look up from her typing.

Darcy came around to read Jane’s computer over her shoulder. “Dr. Foster where is your assistant? Why are _you_ collating notes?”

Jane gave her a look. “It’s lunchtime. Brandon took off.”

"And he didn’t invite you? For shame." Darcy took hold of Jane’s chair and rolled her away from her workstation. "You’re coming with me; it is too nice outside to be inside!"

===

Steve was in his office, writing on a legal pad with an actual No. 2 pencil, bless him, when Darcy got back. She slid up to his doorway and tapped on the frame. “I, uh, hear that we should probably go over reputable sites and, ah, safe search.” Steve’s ears turned red, and he determinedly kept his eyes on his notes in hand. “That was my bad; I didn’t even find out what sort of computer experience you have. Has anybody introduced you to the Internet? And I mean more than just sat you down and said ‘here’s Google, go play?’”

"Ah, what’s Google? I keep hearing people talk about it, but nobody ever says what it actually is." Steve put down his pencil and moved his notepad out of the way, still not meeting her eye.

"Here, it’s best I show you." She pulled the visitor chair back behind his desk again, but Steve moved to block her.

He stuttered and stammered for a bit, but Darcy just said, “Jesus, Steve it’s not like it’s anything that I haven’t seen befo— oh God, really? A Two Girls One Cup gif? Oh we _so_ have to get him back.” She methodically closed all open windows, while Steve sat next to her, eyes downcast, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

"I couldn’t figure out how to make them go away," he mumbled.

Darcy pushed a hand through her hair. “You mean to tell me that they gave you this computer and no… instruction at all?”

Steve twisted his hands together. “They showed me a little. I know how to get onto the office email now, and how to use the…the word processor and the printer and the scanner.”

Darcy nodded, saying, “Ok, this we can work with. Alright. So your first lesson in the Internets is going to be how to log on and get to where you want to go. Starting from your main screen—oh God is that Internet Explorer?”

===

Right after she pulled up Google News, somebody from Risk Management poked his head into the office for her ‘ergonomic assessment’. After spending a few minutes readjusting Darcy’s chair and computer screens and making notes about ordering a footrest and a keyboard pad, the guy left. She took a few spins in her newly adjusted chair, thinking about how grand working for Risk Management would be if it was just about preventing carpel tunnel.

Unfortunately, the hard clicks and disgruntled muttering coming out of Steve’s office brought her mind back to her own responsibilities. She sighed internally and went back (once more into the fray) to find Steve glaring at his computer.

He saw her and threw a hand at his screen. “How? How can people say such … vile things in public? Anyone can read this!”

Darcy brought her hands to her face. “You read the comments! Never, ever! read the comments.”

"Why do people act like this?” Steve’s tone started edging into ‘disappointed dad’ territory.

Darcy cocked her head. “There’s a bunch of theories floating around, like how communication breaks down without nonverbal social cues, or how anonymity lowers inhibitions. Personally, I just think it’s because no one’s invented a way to punch someone through the computer.” Steve still looked furious. “Don’t let it bother you so much. Just…don’t read the comments and don’t feed the trolls. Come on, I’m supposed to be teaching you more than how to Internet. Type in PBS.org and let’s get going on your history lessons.”


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was in the middle of composing an email back at one of SHIELD’s contacts with the Pentagon when Darcy poked her head in his office. “Don’t know what sort of hours you expect me to keep, but til otherwise notified, I’m keeping normal ones. Sound fair?”

Steve, sitting back in his chair, finally remembered how to shut his mouth. He flicked through a number of possible replies, from _What are normal hours?_ to _You’ll work the hours I tell you to_ before the silence stretched out too long, so he settled on a curt nod. It wasn’t worth the effort to argue the very principle.

She’d already flounced away.

====

Even though it was only Tuesday, Darcy called Jane for an emergency girls’ night. And Jane, who came prepared to give an ‘encouraging’ scolding about grown-up responsibilities, paused when she saw Darcy’s manic expression in the neon-darkness. Jane took a seat on the stool next to her, just as Darcy ordered a shot of Jäger and a brandy-old fashioned. When the bartender looked to Jane, she just ordered a ginger ale. “Feeling homesick?” Jane asked Darcy carefully.

Darcy stared at the dusty bottles on display behind the bar. “Called my mom today.”

“…Everything okay?”

“Yep.” Darcy popped her p. “Called to let her know I got a new job. Instead, found out Brit’s engaged.”

Jane paused, and asked, “Is that the dreaded cousin?”

“Yep.”

“Oh dear.” Jane could see the bartender googling how to make a brandy-old fashioned, and asked, “Did you get dinner before you came here?”

“A big greasy hot dog and its delicious fry siblings are currently warming my belly, Jane. I came prepared.” The bartender came back with their glasses then. Shot poured, Jane raised her eyebrows, but Darcy threw it back. When she slapped the empty glass down upside down and declared, “Captain America is an asshole,” Jane knew she had a crisis on her hands.

====

Later, after Steve judged it was past the universal dinner time, he scrolled through his starkphone an dialed Pepper. After three rings, he heard Stark chirp, “Pepper’s phone. What’s up, Cap?” and Steve already felt like banging his head slowly against the railing of the fire escape.

“Stark. Is Pepper there?”

“She’s unavailable at the moment. Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing. I just had a question for her. I’ll try again later.”

“NoNoNoNo, what’s the question, Cap? Maybe I could help.”

“No, I’ll wait until I hear from her.”

“What’s-a-matter, Cap, got super-secret girl talk you need to discuss?”

“Stark…”

“Ohmygod, are you Gossip Girl? Are you only faking your Internet-ineptitude to cover for your salacious burn-book-blogging alter-ego?”

“Stark…”

“Tell me, do you know why Fury only has one eye?”

“Tony!” Steve barked, pinched the bridge of his nose, and continued in a calmer voice. “Restrain yourself. I just had a few questions regarding protocol. It can wait.”

“Protocol? Why would you need to talk to Pepper about prot—wait… Pepper, protocol… When did they assign you a PA??” Steve really did bang his head against the fire escape railing then. “What’s her name? Or his name, to be fair-minded, I mean. Never mind, JARVIS? Pull up some footage…”

“Tony…” Steve warned uselessly.

Then he heard Tony gasp, and say reverently, “Motherfucker! You’re the reason my crack science team looks like someone kicked their puppy?” Then he started laughing.

“Tony, Steve ground out, “Tony, I am ending this conversation…” but then he heard Pepper in the background, then hand sounds, and then “Hello?”

“Oh Pepper,” he sighed, “It’s Steve.”

“Hi Steve, what’s up?” he heard the implied _with Tony?_ loud and clear.

“I’m don’t really know, but I’m pretty sure he’s making fun of me.” Steve groused. “I tried calling you, but he answered.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry about that,” Pepper interjected.

“No no, it’s ok. I just had a few questions about, um… personal assistant protocol.”

“Ok, hm, what do you mean by ‘pro—’” Steve heard Tony stop laughing long enough the shout, “They gave him Darcy, Pep!” then Pepper said, “Oh!” then there was a pause, and Pepper yelped, “Tony, Tony what’re you—Tony, no!” Then more hand sounds. Steve pulled the receiver away from his ear when Tony crowed, “Boy are you in for a treat, Cap!” before he heard more hand sounds and a faint, “We will be having words later, mister.” and then Pepper was back on the line, apologizing. Steve once more reassured her no no it’s fine. Then Pepper asked gracefully, “So. When did Darcy become your PA?”

“Just today,” he said, uncertainty coloring his tone.

“She’s good at what she does, Steve.” Pepper stated warmly. “Darcy’s been Dr. Foster and Dr. Selvig’s PA for almost two years now. With you, she’ll be doing more public relations management, coordinating scheduling, and, ah, be there to run interference for you if need be. Less chasing after you with actual food.”

Steve humphed non-committally. “Can you just…do you know if she’s a SHIELD agent they’re trying to pawn off on me?”

“What? No. No, definitely not. No, she came onto our radar because of the Thor incident…when I said Dr. Foster, I did mean Jane Foster.”

“…Wait. Thor’s lady-love? And the same Dr. Selvig who…?”

“Ye-e-es. Well, Darcy came onto SI as part of a package deal when Dr. Foster agreed to work for us. She’s not a SHIELD agent. She does train with Clint and Natasha, though.”

“How come I haven’t met her before, then?”

“…Well, when Loki…you know, Phil placed Jane and Darcy in Norway for safe keeping, and when Thor and Loki left, they were reposted with Selvig back in New Mexico. Then Darcy wanted to finish her degree, but Culver wouldn’t let her take distance courses, so they transferred to a research facility in Virginia. After Darcy graduated, we were able to talk Jane into moving into the labs here. I don’t even think it’s been a whole month?”

“I…I see.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “So, ah, what does a personal assistant actually do? I-I mean I don’t want to cross some line I don’t even know about or insult her by asking for…” he faded away, worried Pepper would laugh.

She just calmly said, “Like I said, Darcy’s good at what she does. She’ll manage your calendar, field your phone calls, do most of your paperwork and…organize your life, really. Or at least however much of your life you want her to manage. As for asking too much, don’t worry. She’s spent the last few years reminding Dr. Foster when to go to sleep. Do you want me to stop by your office tomorrow to help facilitate a discussion about duties and expectations?” she offered kindly.

Steve shuddered, knowing what her schedules usually looked like, and politely declined. Then he heard Tony in the background, “Can I talk to Cap again, Pep? There’s one more thing I gotta tell him!” so he quickly said, “I’m gonna go, Pepper. Thank you!”

“Sure thing Steve, good night!” The last thing Steve heard before he ended the call was Tony’s distant wail. As he pocketed his phone, he heard passing police sirens rise and tensed. Only he, Tony, and Bruce were left in New York; Clint and Natasha had just left on some secret mission in some secret place. But as the sirens faded, he reminded himself again, that if he was needed, he would know. He rubbed the back of his neck. So. If Pepper liked this girl, then maybe he’d jumped to the wrong conclusions. He crawled back through his window and went to go finish washing his dishes.

====

The next morning, Steve walked into his office and found Darcy nose-deep in a ridiculously large cup of coffee. He said, “Good morning Miss Lewis,” but she jumped, choked, and spilled brown coffee all down the front of her white blouse. Then Steve choked as her bra became clearly visible and the fabric clung tight to her curves. He dove for the closet where he stored his spare gear and grabbed a clean shirt and a towel. Back at her desk, he shoved both at her, eyes averted, and gabbled, “I am so, so sorry, Darcy!”

Beet red, still coughing, she took the towel and wiped off her hands before holding it to her chest. “Lord save me from all super-sneaky superheroes; don’t do that again or so help me, I will tie a bell around your neck!” She took the proffered shirt and groaned, “I’ll be back in a flash.”

Burning with shame, Steve eyed her new desk. That gargantuan coffee-house drink normally came with a…cover. Oh. He saw it off to the side, remnants of whipped cream and chocolate sauce licked…off… And the memory of her curves appearing through her suddenly-sheer shirt flashed across his mind. Stop! Spilled coffee stained her new desk calendar and legal pad, but luckily none of it touched her keyboard. He picked up her mostly-empty cup and brought it down the hall to the kitchenette, dumped the rest down the drain, and tossed it in the paper recycling bin. Then he asked one of the other secretaries where they kept the desk calendars and legal pads, but the gals told him someone would be over with his things shortly. Back in his suite, he took a pile of paper towels and started cleaning off her desk. Her chair was still dry, and not much of the coffee had ended up on the floor. He ripped the sodden months off the calendar (it’d be useable again in August) and examined the legal pad; most of the writing had bled but was still decipherable. There was some sort of list that included: breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, dinner, supper…what?

A pointed cough made his head snap up, and then his mouth went dry. Darcy stood in the doorway, wearing his shirt. She’d more than made due with what should be drowning her; she’d hiked her knee-length skirt up to her waist (now her knees were showing), tucked the shirt in, cinched it all tight with a narrow belt, and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. The collar was so loose on her though… Then she sighed and rubbed one temple. Steve started to stammer another apology, but she just made ‘shoo’ motions with her hands. “Out of my space, Captain. Let’s just start this day over again.”

He scrambled out from behind her desk.

Darcy moved to her chair, spread her pleated skirt, and primly sat. She laced her fingers together before her, and magnanimously stated, “Good morning, Captain.”

His lips twitched. “Good morning, Miss Lewis. What have we got on the agenda for today?”

Her lips twitched back. “The agenda today is your agenda, sir. We need to discuss how you wish for me to proceed; a number of event requests have come in, and I need to know how you would like me to handle things like double bookings, acceptable travel turnover, and unpleasant politicians.” 

Steve smiled.

====

The next few days passed with the same carefully maintained decorousness. Then Darcy discovered an already-scheduled morning talk show interview. She requested and received a list of proposed questions. When Steve saw that she’d drawn a thick, angry red line through a question about Peggy’s current circumstances, he…paused. long and…hard. His first reaction was to wonder how much his own PA knew about his past. His second was to think that maybe, maybe having his own PA wasn’t such a ridiculous concept after all.

She made sure to chalk his meals into the schedule each day, and even took to taking the time between ‘elevensies and luncheon’ for purely ‘fun-stuff’ only. When she found out that he had had a first edition print of The Hobbit, she almost had a fit. She then gleefully introduced him to the rest of Tolkien’s works.

Once he became comfortable navigating the PBS website, she put together a list of other ‘reputable’ sites. She seemed particularly fond of science and tech blogs.

She accompanied him to one of his appearances at one of the Chitauri invasion clean-up sites, bandying with the old construction workers until they were both given a pair of fluorescent vests and hard hats and a few highly visible chores.

They spent one lunch break marathoning Mythbusters, and at her obvious glee with the show’s premise, asked why she hadn’t majored in real science instead, and her face fell. When she blushed, Steve said, “No, that was rude of me, you don’t have to answer.”

She shook her head and sighed, “No, it’s ok. Thing is, I tried. I really did. But I am decidedly not good at math, and, well, after failing the third calc-level course, my dad,” her voice constricted, “my dad said he wasn’t going to pay for me to flunk out of school.” She hung her head.

Steve bit down hard on the urge to tuck her curls behind her ear. “Cum Laude in political science is nothing to shake a stick at.” He frowned. “How on earth did you end up in an astrophysics internship then?”

She shrugged tightly. “I needed six upper division science courses to graduate, but, most of those upper division courses had a, ha, calc-level maths prerequisite. Option A basically would have meant an extra semester, but, well…between switching majors not once but twice and banging my head up against the mathematics department wall, my dad was already getting squirrelly about how long I’d been there. And, well, I was the only applicant. But really? I applied because I wanted one chance to do real science, in the field science, and contribute to discovery” here she waved jazz hands. And then she shook off her dark mood, “The funny thing is? Real science is really not for me. I like learning about it, but I don’t like doing it, you know? I like learning about it and talking about it, but actualfax Science! is too far off the deep end for me. I mean, you know Bruce. Jane and Eric are the same. That takes an amount of dedication that I just cannot maintain. So science is now just my hobby. Do you have any hobbies, Cap?”

He blushed and looked down. “I ah, I draw.”

She brightened. “You draw? What do you draw? Can I see your work? Do you just draw? Do you have a favorite medium? Do you have a favorite style? A favorite movement?” She clapped both hands over her mouth. “Sorry. Becoming a starving artist was once one of my life goals before I realized it’s not a good idea to deliberately piss off the parents.”

Steve smiled, went to grab his sketchbook, and started talking. And that was how Museum Mondays became a thing.

====

Summer in New York unfurled like a peony. One particularly nice Tuesday, Steve had had enough of fluorescent lights, and decided to go out for elevensies. This time, though, he asked Darcy to come with him. They went to a street cafe next to a park and basked in the sunshine, good food, and better coffee.

As they dug into their deserts, Steve leaned in over the table. “Remember how you asked to be notified when I need you to work odd hours?”

Darcy leaned in, too and nodded.

“I want you to come to that Children’s Hospital gala on Saturday.”

Her eyes went wide. “Steve, that’s a bit short notice for white tie.”

He blushed and said, “I know, I’m sorry, and it’s my fault I didn’t think to make that clear earlier. But talk to Pepper. She’ll be able to help.”

Darcy blanched, “Talk to Pe—? I think you’ve grossly misunderstood my relationship with Ms. Potts!” She gulped, “Hi, may I borrow one of your pairs of Louboutins? They’re worth more than my year’s rent, but I promise I won’t step in dog poop or anything!”

Steve snorted, and pulled out his phone. “You know what? I’ll text her. She’ll do this for both of us.” And he easily typed and sent exactly that.

Darcy watched him put his phone away. “You know, I don’t know whether to compliment your texting technique or your manipulation skills. Either way, well done, Padawan.” She sighed and then squealed, “Holy shit I get to go to a ball!”

====

That night, Darcy was puttering around her apartment in her pjs when someone knocked on her door. Curious, since no one had buzzed on her intercom, she hadn’t ordered takeout, and she’d been a model neighbor, thank-you-very-much, she threw on a big shirt and peered through her spy-hole. Jane peered right back. “Darcy open up!”

She undid all her locks and yanked on the old warped door. “What on earth, Jane?”

Jane brandished a rolled up news paper. “You! You, you broke the girl code!”

“…Huh?” She wrapped the tails of the shirt more tightly across her front.

Jane zeroed in on that action and gasped, “Ohh I knew it!” she then thwacked Darcy over the shoulder with the rolled up paper, who yelped.

“Give me that! Jane, have you finally lost your mi—” she looked down at the cover of the Evening Bugle: her and Steve from lunch today, looking far cozier than they’d really been, under the screaming headline: _**CAPTAIN OF HEARTS!** Mystery Girlfriend’s SALACIOUS PAST REVEALED on Page 8!_ A number of smaller pictures framed their headshot; walking down the steps at a museum, covered in dust at one of the clean up events, and a shot of them from behind on the street, where he had one hand wrapped protectively around her elbow, and they appeared to gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes. “Oh my god, I remember this shot! Some jackass walked into me and almost knocked me down. Steve caught me, I almost tazered the idiot out of principle, and he joked that my tazer would die before I got through all the idiots in the world.”

Jane waved a hand. “You can tell me how you both bonded over mutual threats of violence later. Why are you wearing his shirt as a bathrobe?”

“What, this? Remember when he spilled coffee all over me? I just haven’t given it back. It was a fair trade.”

Jane poked her hard, “Code Breaker! Why didn’t you tell me when you got together? Why wouldn’t you let me live vicariously? Darcy, I thought I was your friend!”

Darcy, who knew protestations would go unheard at this point, just laughed loudly and thwapped Jane over the head with that awful news rag. “You’re too smart to be this dumb. We’re not dating. This is just rabble rousing for profits. Our dry spells continue unabated.”

Jane threw her hands in the air and wailed, “Bullshit! It is your patriotic duty to tap that, Darce!”

“Oh no. Ohh no. This is not a conversation to be had sober, and tomorrow is a work day. A _work day,_ Jane. And now all of my coworkers are going to see this,” she rattled the paper in her hand, “Or hear about it. I am not facing tomorrow’s gauntlet hungover.”

Jane slumped, “So it’s not real?”

“Nope.” She popped her p.

“Do you want it to be real?”

Darcy flinched. Jane’s manic expression softened. “Oh honey…” Jane pulled Darcy into a tight embrace.”

====

The next day, Darcy was determinedly working at her desk like normal. One or two remarks came her way in the break room, but beyond that, her coworkers were too professional to give her too much shit during work hours. If she was hitting her keys a little more forcefully, well, who was gonna stop her. She turned to dig a file out of the cabinet and nearly jumped out of her chair when someone slapped a magazine down on her desk.

“So tell me Darcy-Lou, are the tabloids true?”

Darcy shrieked, “Clint!” and threw her arms around him, “Of course, you rascal. Didn’t you know? Everything that Ryan Seacrest says comes true. It’s quite dangerous, really. One time he helped this kid with his science homework, and suddenly CERN got themselves faster-than-light neutrinos!”

Clint squeezed her tight and hid his chuckle in her hair. That’s when Steve walked out of his office to see what all the commotion was about. He stopped dead in his tracks. But Clint saw him, and let Darcy go. Steve’s jaw worked once, and then he said curtly, “Hawkeye.”

Clint smirked. “Captain.” Then he turned his attention back to Darcy and whistled. “Lookit you all dressed up. Where’re your chucks, girl?”

Darcy pointed her toe in one of a her black silk stilettos, showing off purple toe nail polish just visible through the peep toe below an abstract bow, “These are nice, aren’t they? And they make a damn lot more difference on a body than just a rubber sole.”

Clint rumbled assent, then asked, “But can you run in them, baby-girl?”

“Well enough,” she said hesitantly.

“Hmm.” He rasped a hand over his stubble, eyeing her in a way that made Steve suddenly feel horribly uncomfortable.

“Hawkeye, when did you get back to base.” Steve asked in his commander’s voice.

Clint looked up at him and said, “Bout half an hour ago. Needed to do some checking in first.” Then he turned back to Darcy. “How’s your training been keeping up?”

Darcy froze.

Clint let the silence drag a beat, then he just said quietly, “Darce.”

She rounded her shoulders and looked down. “I’ve…I’ve been running.”

After another pause, he quietly asked, “And why just running? Look at me, girl.”

Darcy squared her shoulders then and met his eye. “Work… and…no real reason, sir.”

And a thundercloud started to build on Steve’s face. He opened his mouth to say something when Clint said, “I see. Very well. What are your current work hours? And when do you take lunch?”

Her gaze still hadn’t left Clint’s. “I’m at my desk by 8, take lunch from 11 til 1, and am out the door by 5, sir.”

“Why a two hour lunch?"

“It’s usually a working lunch that covers the period of both of the Captain’s midday meals.”

“I see. Well then, when would you like to do this: 0600 before work, during your actual lunch break, or after you’re done for the day?”

Steve saw Darcy flinch, and he ground out, “Barton.” But the agent didn’t respond. He just waited.

“Whichever works best for you, sir. Tell me when and I’ll be there,” Darcy said quietly.

Clint nodded. “Then I will see you in Gym 8 at 1130.” With one nod to Steve, he left.

Then Darcy brought her hands to her face and groaned, “Shit,” and Steve felt he had to intervene.

He stalked off down the hallway and saw the tail end of Hawkeye turn left at the end of the hall. He caught up to him just in front of the bank of clerical staff. “Barton,” he called. “I would like a word.” Clint looked over his shoulder and paused. “In here, please.” Steve led him to the break room, checked to be sure it was empty, and then shut the door behind them. “What the hell was that?”

Clint rocked back on his heels. “‘What the hell was—’ what? You getting territorial, Cap?”

Steve took a step forward. “You cannot just barge into my office and start ordering my PA around, Barton!”

Clint scowled, brows dropping, “Oh, so it’s possessives now? If you’re feeling oh-so protective of her, tell me this: why haven’t you already scheduled her training time?”

Steve halted, momentarily at a loss for words, and then he started, “That is not the poi—” The door opened, and Natasha walked in.

She shut the door behind her and said, “Gentlemen.”

Clint coughed lightly. “What’re you doing here, Tash.”

“Funnily enough, I was on my way to see a friend. I didn’t expect to see all of the clerical staff craned outside the kitchen door to gawp at two grown men having a pissing match.”

Steve hated the blush that heated his face right then.

“Are we done here?” Widow asked. They nodded. “Good.”


	4. Dancin' Cheek to Cheek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The sound of a big band wafted out of the ballroom, onto the crowded terrace, and mingled in the strings of party lights overhead with the faint sounds of traffic from below. Steve clutched a pilsner glass in one hand, one part of his brain knowing he was gripping too tight, the same part that was trying to tell him to calm down, to look away, to find another conversation to join...but he was rooted to the spot. There, untouched by the bright lights, away from the crowds, Barton and Darcy sat together, laughing, touching...sharing space._
> 
> _Steve turned away, swapped his beer for a passing shot, and headed back inside._

As much as it burned in his gut, Steve, Barton, and the Widow walked back to his office. Steve sat down at his desk and debriefed Barton, while Natasha stood just outside his door, chatting with Darcy. And he knew, he _knew_ that he'd have to ask JARVIS for a transcript of this debriefing later, because damn it all, he had no idea what he and Barton were even saying. 

Then, "Help! Clint! I'm being kidnapped by a mad Russian!"

Steve had jumped to his feet, but Clint just drawled, "No you're not."

Darcy made a show of clinging to Steve's doorframe. "She said something about corsets and lace, help!" 

Clint just crossed his arms and called, "As much as I'd love to come watch...nope, you're on your own." 

Then Darcy was pulled out of view, wailing, "Traitor!" While Natasha's unnerving laughter faded away.

===

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. Steve's mind snarled with every step down to the gym. There was no question of going back to his desk right now. _Now_ he needed to destroy something that wouldn't hurt anyone in the end, and he knew just where his tape was. Never mind that it wasn't even 10 in the morning. It wasn't like his work was needed. All he was doing here was twiddling his thumbs until something came up that no one else could handle, and how do you plan your schedule around that? 

But even that release was denied him; Stark was down in the ring with...Dr. Banner? Both were bare-knuckled, and Stark was already sporting a livid bruise on his cheek and sweating through his shirt. Banner looked like he'd just taken a brisk stoll and was smiling like Steve had never seen before. Stark went at him, swinging a hard left punch at Banner's midsection, which he deflected without effort. Stark then aimed a hard right at Banner's face. Banner simply took hold of Stark's forearm with both hands, tucked a shoulder, and _twisted_. Tony Stark flew over Banner's shoulder and landed with a loud _Oomph!_ on his back on the floor. 

Banner said cheerfully, "And that little snap at the end is what 'mutual benefit and welfare' is all about. One time, this gal threw me with a little too much oomph and I over-spun right onto my face. This way, we're being nice about it. The snap helps stop the rotation so you land happy." Stark just made a garbled noise and waived two hands in the air. Banner grabbed one hand and hauled him back to his feet. "Oh hey Steve!" 

Stark flailed some more and cried, "Oh don't tell me Captain Perfect Pants saw all that!" 

Then Banner shoved Stark on one shoulder, tripped him neatly over one outstretched leg, and sent him flailing to the floor once more, saying, "Yep. And he saw all that, too. Don't be rude."

"Yeah yeah yeah, mutual benefit and welfare my a--"

"So what's up, Steve?" Banner...Bruce asked over Stark's whining. 

Steve decided to stop hovering in the doorway. "Came to work off some steam. Now I'm impressed. Where'd you learn to fight like that, Dr. Banner?"

"Just something I picked up on the run. I spent some time in Japan and ended up getting taken under the wing of a judoka who, ah, took one look at my 110 lb frame and started teaching me the basics." Steve must have looked horrified, because Banner went on, "I'd been on the run for a while at that point. Anyway, the founder of Judo was a 90 lb asthmatic, so I think all judoka feel duty-bound to root for the little guy."

Steve pricked up. "Care to show me some basics?" 

Then Stark came bounding back into the conversation. "No, no! We should show the Captain the new stuff first."

"What stuff, Tony?" Bruce asked indulgently. 

" _Your_ new stuff. Your brilliant new ion propulsors and your new percussion-proof spandex--I mean body armor. All the new stuff that's up in the lab. We should go show Cap."

"First, you mean _your_ new percussion-proof spandex, because you wanted to be able to wear it under your suit, and second, right now?"

"Yes right now. Who knows when we'll get another chance like this."

Steve felt like he was watching a tennis match. 

Bruce nodded, greying curls bouncing. "Fine, we'll go play show and tell, but _you_ are going to take a shower first." Stark opened his mouth to argue, but Bruce just pointed at the locker room door. Stark held up both hands in surrender and bounced off.

===

Later, surrounded by smoking bits of bombs, hunched over laughing, sweat sticking to the new spandex body armor, and for once not aching from a thousand bruises, Steve heard Stark's phone blare _Whoa-oh here she comes, watch out boy she'll chew you up! Whoa-oh here she comes, she's a man eat--_

"What's shakin' Darce?" 

Steve stopped laughing. 

"Just listed to Pepper.  
"Clearly, that's why I sent along the black card.  
"No, you are not!  
"No, you get back there!  
"Don't you dare.  
"Do you want me to put on the suit? I will. I will put on the suit and carry you back there myself!  
"Of course there's something in this for me.  
"Darcy, listen to Pepper.  
"No this is not charity, it's _for_ charity!  
"Then in that case, think of this as a bonus. As a work expense. Like I said, ask Pepper. I routinely pay her in shoes.  
"Of course you're getting shoes with this, what sort of heathen do you think I am? No, don't answer that. Now! Don't come back til you find something gorgeous!  
"Yep, bye."

Steve could hardly swallow around the awful feeling in his throat. 

===

Her feet were killing her when she got back to her desk, but she couldn't sit down yet. She hung her new bag in Steve's closet (next to his _Captain America suit_ and good god she was never going to get over that in a million years) and then fished around for a hair tie, mouth dry. She didn't have a gym bag at work, but she didn't have time to track down a set of gym clothes, either. Frankly, that was going to be the least painful lesson here. Then she noticed Steve leaning against his doorframe, arms folded over his massive chest, looking grave. 

"Darcy, you don't have to do this if you don't want to." 

God, how could his voice rumble in _her_ chest? She shook her head. "No, I do have to." He opened his mouth to argue, but she hurriedly cut him off. "I _do_. It's just...right now I feel guilty because I've been caught out. I should have had the discipline to keep up on my own, but I didn't. And now it's going to be that much worse getting back into it." She shook her head. "Look, I gotta run. Don't give anyone an inch while I'm gone. It can wait til I get back."

And then she was gone. 

She was gone in the hallway. Gone in the elevator. Gone in the cold gym with her heels pressing awkwardly into the foam mat. Her limbs felt empty...useless. Then she felt the air shift behind her left shoulder, and she ducked. 

The Black Widow's swing sailed through the air. Darcy turned to face the attack, blocking the second swing at her side. Natasha pressed in again, and Darcy managed to deflect the shot at her face, but the Russian got a leg behind her as she shifted. Down Darcy went with a loud slap and a hard exhalation. Tasha followed her to the mat, aiming for a complete pin, and as much as Darcy struggled, she was eventually trapped in a chokehold. Vision going dark around the edges, the tapped frantically on the thigh cutting off her air.

Clint leaned against the ropes of the boxing ring next to the mats, looking down at her with a grin. "That wasn't half bad, kid. Your reflexes are still there." 

Natasha disentangled herself and rose gracefully to her feet. She did not offer a Darcy a hand up. Darcy scrambled onto her own feet. 

"And even better, you didn't change. Your clothes, I mean. If this is how you're going to live now, then this is how you'll learn to fight, too. Because if you don't think _this--_ " he snapped open the Bugle's morning rag, "isn't a game-changer, then you haven't been paying attention." He nodded to the center of the mat. "Again."

Fighting with the Black Widow is very reminiscent to dancing. There is a certain rhythm involved, an eventual cadence of stomping feet, sloughing fabric, and flesh on flesh contact. Again, Darcy slams to the ground. Again, she tries to twist out of the hold. Again, she's pinned like a bug on a card. 

"How could you let this happen?" Clint eventually cried, the paper crumpled in his fist. 

"It is what it is," Natasha replied calmly. 

An exchange of blows. Darcy lands one punch to Tasha's solar plexus and ends up on her back for her pains. 

"You were fine in the lab," Clint growled. 

"I was wasted in the lab!" Darcy gasped, breath knocked out by the last fall. 

He looked at her for a long time. "Yes, you were. But at least you were safe."

She clambered to her feet, blisters screaming on her toes, balls of her feet screaming from the forward pressure. "Safety is an illusion, Clint. Never been, never will be safe."

The glance Natasha gave Clint was physical. Then she stepped off the mat. Shoulders sagging with relief, Darcy followed. 

"You want to know the secret to fighting in heels?" Tasha asked her. 

Darcy just wiped her brow and panted.

"Knowing when to take them off."

===

The next morning, Steve just about swallowed his tongue when Darcy hobbled into the office. When he asked if she was ok, she winced and said, "Never better." He saw her purple tennis shoes before she moved behind her desk. Her gait was completely different without her heels. 

He was in and out of meetings all morning, and she was always on the phone when he was by her desk. When he was finally able to ask if she would come to lunch with him again, she shook her head. 

"Lunch isn't an option anymore, soldier," she said without meeting his eyes, twisting her hair into a bun.

Later, sitting alone in a diner, Steve tried to ignore how much he missed her company. 

===

The day after that, Darcy came to work with bruises on her wrists and forearms. When she saw his expression, she pulled her sweater sleeves down to her thumbs, but he came out of his office. He stepped into her cubicle for the first time since he spilled her coffee. He grabbed one of her hands, pushed her sleeve up, and _growled_ , "Darce--"

But she twisted her hand out of his grip and _shoved_ at his chest. "Don't you dare, Steve, don't you even DARE." He quickly backed out of her space. She snarled, "I'd like to see you go ten rounds with the Black Widow without the serum. Quit trying to white knight thi--!"

"What?" 

She threw her hands up. "Not all of us are super soldiers, but we all live in this world! Or do you not want me able to defend myself?"

"That's not--"

"That _is_ it. Now, I am not some dame you need to treat with kid gloves. Deal with it." She glared at him until he put his hands up. 

"I'm not trying to treat you like you can't fight. I'm _not_ ," he repeated when she lobbed a look of withering skepticism at him. "I just don't...I just...are you sure Hawkeye should be the one doing your training?" 

She stared at him for a long moment. "I've been working with Clint for longer than I've been working with you. I trust him with my life, and anyone else who has a problem with him _or_ with Dr. Selvig is going to have a problem with me." She turned away and deliberately put her headphones in.

She was distant the rest of the day. Before she went home for the evening, she gave him a single sheet of paper and told him to have it on her desk first thing the next morning. She did an admirable job covering her limp as she left. 

===

Sometimes, when Hawkeye gets thrown violently out of REM state, he finds refuge on the firing range that Stark added to the gym in a bid to convince him to move into the tower. Given the odd hours kept by the rest of the team, he wasn't surprised to see light pouring out of the gym door, but what was unusual was the silence--no dull thuds, no clanking weights, no sound of movement...but JARVIS did not leave lights on in unoccupied rooms. Clint pause in the doorway and looked in. 

Steve sat on a bench, hunched over a paper, fisting his hair with one hand, clutching a pen in the other. Even from the doorway, Clint could see Steve's scowl. 

"Got homework, Cap?" Clint called, lounging on the doorframe. Steve's head snapped up; he must have been focusing hard if Clint's presence hadn't registered.

"It's a...take home test." Steve spat. "If you call it that. 'Tell me about the Beatles' 'What did it take to take Jim Crowe down' 'How has Apple changed society'...why do I feel like I'm being laughed at?" He threw his pen down. 

Clint fought back a smirk. "Knowing Darcy, she _is_ laughing at you." When Steve's face grew positively stormy, Clint called, "Hey, she laughs at everyone. It's nothing personal. 'Sides, those are legit questions, once you know the answers. She's just worded them to not make sense out of context." Cap still looked disgruntled, so he offered, "But hey, it's too late for schoolwork now. Wanna spar?"

Steve wouldn't meet Clint's eye. "That's probably not a good idea right now." His knuckles were white in a fist. 

Clint just raised his eyebrows, said, "Suit yourself," and sauntered off to the range.

===

The test was on Darcy's keyboard when she got to work the next morning. She set her coffee cup down and put her purse away before she sat down to read it. 

1) Tell me about the Beatles  
 _What kind? Dung Beatles? Ladybugs? Cockroaches? You should have seen the size of the cockroaches in my apartment when I lived in Brooklyn._

2) What did it take to take Jim Crowe down  
 _Well first they tried to knock him out with a punch, but that didn't work so then they shot him._

3) How has Apple changed society  
 _Once they figured out that an apple a day keeps the doctor away, they were able to shut down all hospitals and clinics because all diseases were cured forever._

Her eyebrows inched higher with each (creatively) wrong answer. She took a long drink of coffee and a few slow breaths before she pushed her chair back and stood. And squared off her shoulders. And marched to the Captain's office. And did _not_ pound his door down....she politely knocked thank you very much. And she waited for the Captain to open his door. And she did not yell. She did not throw things or scream. She did not shove him back to into his computer chair and smash his own hands over GOOGLE.COM DAMMIT. She just held the test up and said, "I think you misunderstood the assignment. The purpose wasn't to stump you. The purpose was to get you to use the means available to you in order to find the answers. Please start over, and leave your answers on my desk by the time I return from lunch."

If she channeled the spirit of her 10th grade English teacher, sue her.

Steve snatched the sheet out of her hand. "What's the point of calling it a test then, if you're not going to laugh at all my wrong answers?"

Darcy's mouth dropped, then she shut it with a snap. "If you think that after all this time, that I would ...would _rub your nose_ in what you've missed, then you don't know me at all." She jerked away and stomped back to her desk. 

Steve blinked, looked confused, and stood up to follow her, but she kept her back completely turned to him. So he stood there and wondered how he seemed to have gone so wrong. "I'm sorry," he said hesitatingly. "I...I thought you were making fun of me." 

She sighed and dug her fingers into her temple. "I will never make fun of someone for not getting a reference. Look up 'xkcd lucky 10,000' if you don't believe me. Now get out of my space so I can get back to work, unless you _want_ to spend the next two weeks doing to morning talk show circuit..."

Steve blanched and left her to it.

===

Clint let Darcy take out her frustrations in the 90 lb punching bag for about five minutes. Then he stood behind the bag and held it for another few before she finally sighed and stepped out of position. "If I have to field one more call from BUMFUCK Media Magazine Freak Show Inc. regarding Captain America's new girlfriend, I am going to...going to... oh fuck it, superglue lasers on sharks and set them loose in the Hudson." She wiped her sweaty forehead and winced when her taped hand snagged a few hairs. "They _will not_ give up. This morning I got asked for an 'interview' with MAXIM," she snarled and started unwrapping her hands. 

"Well I dunno what else you expected, Darce," Clint huffed. "Cap's first girlfriend since he defrosted is kind of big deal to a lot of people." 

"Yeah well, news is news, and busybodied gossip-mongers are another."

"Wait, so you and Cap aren't dancing cheek to cheek and sharing milkshakes?"

"Not you too!" Darcy threw her hands up. "No! And I would like to know why people keep thinking-- no. You know what? I don't even want to know why, because it'll likely just piss me off."

"Well then how bout we focus on how to manage this media shit show." Clint clapped and rubbed his hands together. "If these are just rumors, you can try to wait for them to die down, but...let me tell you, if 'Cap's Got a Girl' is selling magazines, then 'Trouble in Paradise' is going to burn up the presses." Clint met Darcy's glare and held up his hands. "Just sayin'. Thing is, if you want this to die down and be unbelievable, then you're gonna have to work on your body language, because...wait. Were any of those pictures photoshopped?"

"Knowing modern media? Yes," Darcy hedged. 

"But...?" Clint heard the defensiveness in her tone. 

Darcy's shoulders dropped. "But probably not dramatically. It's not like they, oh, photodropped me into place or added kawai hearts or anything. Most of that shit was circumstantial, like _Ooh, they're sitting at the same table for lunch, how romAAAaaantic_ or whatever."

"Alright, then we're definitely going to have to work on your body language," the Black Widow said, materializing right behind Darcy's left ear, causing her to jump a foot and shriek. Clint couldn't suppress a snort. 

"...God dammit."

===

Steve sighed and tugged at the sleeves of his suit as the limo slowed. He could see the flashbulbs of the ridiculous red carpet up ahead. Tony and Pepper were primping each other, while Banner looked like he was counting street lights. Clint and Natasha were coming in later, both having refused Stark's plan to arrive en masse. Steve agreed on the hope that Stark would help distract the press. 

Once the limo stopped, a valet opened the door and the flashbulbs were blinding. Tony stepped out first, then held out his hand to Pepper. Then Bruce stumbled out. The reporters were already shouting questions. Steve got out and pasted on his show smile. Behind him, the valet shut the door and the limo drove off. 

"Captain Rogers, where's your date!"

"Cap, where's your girlfriend?"

He ignored the reporters and their microphones and followed Stark and Banner up the steps to the hotel. Unfortunately, their questions followed as well. When they paused to pose for a group photo in front of the Children's Hospital logo, Steve asked Banner, "Why do they all keep asking about my date?"

Banner murmured back, "I don't know Cap, that's not really my area."

The flashbulbs kept going off until they made it inside. There, they were greeted by the head of the hospital, who whisked them off to be introduced to everyone who had a pocketbook to open. Steve shook more hands than he cared to think about, memorizing each name and face and hoping for an opportunity to escape. But they were the stars of the show tonight, and it seemed like everyone wanted to meet him or show off the fact that they'd already met.

When someone stood up to make a speech, he was able to slip away and slip out his Stark phone. He pulled up the internet browser and googled 'Captain America's girlfriend' and tapped news results. And stared at the pictures. Darcy.

His head snapped up, and he saw her across the ballroom, standing with Dr. Banner, Dr. Foster, and Dr. Selvig, listening to the head of the hospital entreat the attendees for additional donations. He hadn't seen her come in, but somehow he knew where she was. He always knew where she was in a room. He groaned. 

Steve hated how lonely his lunches were now. He hated how exhausted Darcy now was in the afternoons and the bruises that peppered her arms. He hated that Clint had hit him right in the hurts when he pointed out that it _should_ have been _Steve's_ responsibility to train her and protect her and arm her. And he hated that the tabloids weren't even the slightest bit right. _Hated_ that their manufactured posts still used real pictures of their real interactions, even if they were being deliberately misinterpreted. Darcy _had_ smiled up at him like that just last week.

The crowd applauded the speaker and a big band swung into gear, playing familiar music. He saw Darcy break into a huge smile and toss back her head with a laugh. Then Dr. Banner led her out to the suddenly crowded dance floor. 

Steve threw himself back into the crowd. He accepted a glass of beer for appearances. If he had to focus on his showmanship, then he wouldn't have time to stare at his PA.

This worked until he lost track of her. He excused himself from his conversation and began to circle the room, but he still couldn't find her. He slipped out onto the terrace and almost stumbled. Darcy and Barton were dancing under the strings of party lights. Oh they weren't the only ones, but they were the only pair he saw. Then, as he watched, the song ended, and they walked off the dance floor together and faded into the darkness. 

One part of his brain knew he was gripping his pilsner glass too tight, the same part that was trying to tell him to calm down, to look away, to find another conversation to join...but he was rooted to the spot. Barton and Darcy were sitting on a bench, laughing, touching, sharing space. It was a scene far too intimate for a charity gala, certainly one far too intimate to be observed. And as he watched, Hawkeye lent in, mouth almost touching Darcy's ear. Then she sauntered away, her green dress black in the dim light, while his face stretched into a long leer. Barton stayed a moment, watching her go, before he drained his glass and followed. 

Steve turned away in disgust. He swapped his beer for a passing shot and headed back inside. He knew the shot wouldn't have any effect, but the burn on the way down was satisfying. 

===

Darcy made her way inside quietly. So far she had managed to escape the notice of the few reporters who were allowed into the gala. She would rather like to keep that streak up, thank you. Then she noticed Steve, looking thunderous, and thought maybe she could kill two stones while on Hawkeye's mission. Luckily, Tony and Pepper were dancing near the edge of the dance floor, so Darcy was able to sidle up to them without having to take up another partner. She stood up on her tiptoes to whisper near Pepper's ear, "Tag, you're it. And I spy with my little eye, someone strong and brave, here to save the American way...looking about ready to commit murder." Pepper snorted delicately and kissed Tony's cheek before making her way to the Captain, slicing through the crowd like a boss. Darcy and Tony both sighed in appreciation. 

"Alright, you jerk, since you deprived me of my partner, come pick up the slack," Tony said with a grin and opened his arms. Darcy rolled her eyes but took his hand and shoulder, and accepted his hand on her hip. "What foul deeds are you and your coven of spies mixing my fair lady up with?"

"Aw, we're just playin' tag, man." Darcy drawled. "I wasn't planning on sending Pepper away, but then I saw Steve's face and I figured he needed a little diplomatic intervention."

Tony twirled her, then asked, "Isn't that what they pay you for?"

Darcy rolled her eyes. "I called in the big guns."

"Oh, well in that case, of course," Tony said magnanimously. The song ended, and he led her off the dance floor and swept her with him to meet Pepper and Steve at a bar table. Then Tony said, "Well Darcy, at this point you have danced with every other Avenger. It'll look weird if you don't dance wth Captain America."

"Every other Avenger present, except for Black Widow, you mean?" Darcy asked archly. 

Tony blinked slowly and smiled like it was Christmas today, tomorrow, and every day after that. "Please dance with the Widow. Please please _please_. I triple dog dare you." 

"I can't tell if I'm supposed to chicken out because she's the Black Widow or because she's a girl." Darcy told Tony, ignoring Pepper's _I knew what I was getting myself into so why am I still surprised_ exhasperation and Steve's stony-faced silence. "If it's the first, then that's just wisdom. If it's the second, well..." 

Natasha appeared at her side, stunning in deep red satin, and took Darcy's hand to gracefully swirl her away. Darcy couldn't hold back her laughter at Tony's applause or Steve's horrified expression. Natasha smiled beautifically down at Darcy, then whispered, "Tag, you're it." 

"Aw, Tasha!" Darcy whined, and the Widow smiled. Then Darcy blinked and cried, "Aw crap, I've neatly boxed myself into having to dance with him, haven't I?"

Natasha just smiled wider. "Stark's not wrong, though. It would look...off if you dance with everyone but Rogers." 

Darcy made a little show of pouting. "Can't I stay with you for the rest of the night?"

Natasha smiled a wolf's grin. "I don't think this city could handle our combined awesomeness."

Darcy snorted and asked, "Are we still on for Slutwalk next weekend?"

"Schedules permitting, you bet." 

"Ooh are we going to make grown men cry?" 

"Absolutely." 

And then the song ended. Tony Stark came over, dragging an extremely reluctant Steve, and called, "Rogers! Lewis!" He then whistled and shoved Steve at Darcy. 

Darcy took pity on Steve, who was blushing like no other, and said loud enough for Stark to hear, "It's almost like he doesn't have enough to do, poor thing, he must be so bored!" Darcy took Steve's hand and reached up for his broad shoulder. 

He blinked and smiled crookedly. "We're just gonna have to do something about that. I'll see if Pepper has any ideas."

"I take it back, you two are an unholy combination of sass, and I disown you." Tony started to walk away with his nose in the air, but Natasha snagged him and pulled him deeper into the crowded dance floor. 

An awkward silence fell, over the sound of the music and the sway of their hips. Steve's hand was hot on her waist through the silk chiffon of her dress. From what she could see, it seemed like everyone was watching them. 

Darcy swallowed, and tried to force some playfulness into her tone, "Tag, you're it."

Steve blinked down at her, confused. 

"It's just a game we play. Ah, Hawkeye started it. You have to get into someone's space and...well you're supposed to surprise them, but since you weren't expecting it, it kind of _was_ still a surprise..." she faded away, since he didn't seem amused by it.

Finally, Steve said quietly, "I, ah, saw the news. That they're printing about us I mean." Darcy started and looked up. "I hope no one's been giving you a hard time...or that it's messing up anything between you and Barton." 

Darcy's eyebrows furrowed. "Well, I mean the reporters have kind of been jerks, and there's been some skuttlebutt at work, but why would the papers have anything to do with me and Clint?"

"Well, I don't want him to get jealous over nothing..."

Darcy still looked confused, but then her mouth dropped. "Oh! No! No, Steve, Clint and I aren't together. He's _widowed_." She shook her head emphatically. 

Steve's eyebrows dropped and he looked away. "Yeah, well, Widow sure doesn't seem to be putting up a fuss."

Darcy gaped and spluttered, "Oh my God. I am not trying to be _cute_. He. Is. Widowed. I'm really not on his radar right now."

Steve looked down at her again. "What? Really? He had a wife?" 

She just stared at him for a long moment, then looked away. "If you didn't know, then it's not my story to tell." There was another long, uncomfortable pause before she continued, "and no, before you stumble over how not to ask, I'm not dating Natasha, either. We really do just spar." Steve looked rather gobsmacked, so Darcy cried, "Oh my god, is that what all your alpha male posturing was about? You _weren't_...I don't know, being all weird about Clint because of Loki's mindfuckery?"

"What? No!" Steve replied hotly. "No more than I'd be 'all weird' about Dr. Banner or the Widow." 

Their eyes locked and the song changed and they didn't let go. Her eyes were so very blue without her thick glasses. Then Darcy smiled slow and asked, "Cap, was that you all jealous?" 

Then the room exploded. 

Steve drove them both to the floor, covering Darcy from the hail of glass shards as all the windows imploded. At first, Darcy was too stunned to move, but as faint screams made their way through her numb, ringing ears, she tapped frantically at Steve's chest. "I'm ok! I'm ok, let's move!" 

Blood was running down Steve's back from where his thin suit coat did nothing for him. He could see figures in tac gear coming in through the smoke, guns raised. "Bar. See the bar?" Steve ground out, staying low over her. SHIELD agents were already firing back.

"On it." Darcy slid out and ran low, skirts hiked up, heels skittering dangerously over the broken glass. Steve followed close behind, but shouted when a fighter appeared out of the smoke within arms' reach of Darcy. The guy went down with an arrow through his goggles. Darcy shrieked, "They're in fucking SHIELD gear!" but kept going. They were buffeted by people running for the exits and got separated in the crowd. Steve saw Darcy dive over the top of the bar, but someone caught him over the shoulder with a cattle prod. He went down on one knee, muscles spasming, and ducked the baton aimed for his head. He rolled to his feet and grabbed the forearm holding the wicked taser, and twisted viciously, feeling the guy's radial bone break as he dropped the thing, and Steve dropped him with a blow to the side of his neck.

Steve picked up the cattle prod and started dropping every attacker he could find. Arrows flew. Bullets flew. Steve heard the whine of Iron Man powering online. And then it was done. Blood dripped off his fingertips and the smoke stung his throat. He saw Widow and security staff try to follow some retreating attackers, but he headed straight to the bar. 

It was empty. 

The service door behind the bar hung crooked, knocked off its hinges. 

Darcy's taser lay smashed on the floor.


End file.
